


Under the weather

by waltraud



Series: Young Inspector Morse (Endeavour) [4]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fainting, Fever, Flu, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25731361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltraud/pseuds/waltraud
Summary: “Upstairs”, the man said and Morse hurried to climb up the stairs. Familiar voices led him to a door slightly ajar at the end of the corridor. The outworn floorboards were creaking underneath his shoes. The wallpapers were spotty with mould.Just as he pushed open the door, his nose tickled and he stopped midway to sneeze in the crook of his arm, making the men in front of him jump in surprise.“I’b sorry”, he said as he searched for a handkerchief to blow his nose.“Bless you! And hello, Morse.”Morse gets sick, but with only two days of work left before Christmas of course there is no need for him to stay at home.
Series: Young Inspector Morse (Endeavour) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784299
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Under the weather

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there,  
> here's my next short story comming.  
> I hope you like it.  
> Leave a comment or some kudos to let me know if you do :D
> 
> Hope you are all doing well.  
> Love  
> Waltraud

It was only two days before Christmas.  
The steady rain, that had settled over Oxford since the beginning of November had mixed with single flakes of snow, making the frosting streets even more slippery, than before.  
Morse carefully made his way towards the nick, his shoes and coat were all wet and his socks slightly damp, when finally he arrived.  
He signed out the Jag and slowly started his journey. He would be a few minutes late to pick up Thursday, he realized, but it would be better him being late, than him wrecking the car.  
A shiver ran through his thin frame and he turned on the heater. 

The DI was already waiting for him.  
“Nasty weather”, he said in a form of greeting as he took his seat. He took in the damp coat hanging from his bagman’s shoulders. “Don’t you have an umbrella?”  
“Lost it somewhere the day before”, Morse answered. Actually he had lend it to Monica, but their … what ever it was between them … felt still to fresh to talk about it with his boss.  
“Hm, you better find yourself a new one soon. Does not seem as if we will have a lot of sunny days coming.”  
Morse nodded and pulled the car back on the street.  
They had to pass by four car accidents and it took them nearly twice as much time to get to the police station then usual.  
As much as he loved driving the Jaguar, Morse felt quite relieved, when finally he was able to take a seat behind his desk and without a second thought started going through his paperwork, glad to be inside at least.  
He had gotten rid of his coat. It now hung near one of the heatings but the rest of him still felt damp and cold. It would have been wise to have a set of changes in his locker, he realized, but as he didn’t there was not much to be done about it. 

It was nearly lunchtime, when Thursday walked up to his desk.  
“Phonecall came in. Suspicious death near the train station. PCs are already there, asking for a second look.”  
“I am on it.” He got up, his limps and back a little stiff from having sat so long without moving. His coat by now luckily had mostly dried. 

The snowfall had increased during the day and he was limited to an even slower pace than in the morning.  
He spotted DeBryn’s car in front of a crocked house half a block away from the train station. He stopped the Jag behind the Morris. A PC greeted him at the door. Morse did not know his name, but they occasional had met before.  
“Upstairs”, the man said and Morse hurried to climb up the stairs. Familiar voices led him to a door slightly ajar at the end of the corridor. The outworn floorboards were creaking underneath his shoes. The wallpapers were spotty with mould.  
Just as he pushed open the door, his nose tickled and he stopped midway to sneeze in the crook of his arm, making the men in front of him jump in surprise.  
“I’b sorry”, he said as he searched for a handkerchief to blow his nose.  
“Bless you! And hello, Morse.”  
“ So what ’ve we got”, he asked, stepping a little closer.  
“Mr. Caster, 45 years old, no lingering health conditions as far as his landlord knows. Found dead by him, when he came up to have a lock at his heater, which seems to have broken down just the day before. Last been seen yesterday around eight o’clock by his landlord’s wife, when he went down to complain about it.”  
“Any sign of violence?”, Morse asked, clearing his throat.  
“Nothing so far, you are invited to have a closer look yourself, but only if you refrain from sneezing all over the body.”  
“Thank you, but I think I am quite fine over here, doctor. Anything else? Time of death maybe?”  
“Difficult to say for sure for know, roughly between ten o’clock in the evening and four o’clock in the morning, but you will have to wait for more at the post-mortem. Shall we say around five?”  
Morse nodded, leaving the doctor to his work.  
Mr. Caster had only rented that single room and it did not take him and the PC long to have a look at his belongings, finding nothing of interest in their search.  
He then spoke to the landlord and his wife as well as two of the other tenants at home, learning nothing new, before he made his way back to the station to give his report.

The snow had stopped for now, but the cold it had brought lingered, leaving him shivering even as he made his way into Thursday’s office.  
He gave his report to the DI.  
“So could very well be some kind of natural death?”, Thursday asked.  
“Possible.”, Morse answered. “DeBryn said he would make a call to his regular physician...” He stopped mid sentence, as another tickle burned in his nose, making tears shot in his eyes, but not bringing the relief of a sneeze. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the back of his nose to get rid of the nasty feeling. “… to find out if there had been some sort of health condition. Post-mortem around five, he said.” Then, finally the sneeze he had been waiting for erupted from him, making his hole body shake by the convulsion.  
The DI nodded. “So, not much to be done about it until then.” He carefully eyed his bagman, taking in his pale complexion and reddening nose. “Are you alright?”  
Morse only shrugged. “Lot’s of mould in that house”, he said and made his way back to his desk. 

_Mould! As if._ Thursday thought, when he went to pick up Morse a few hours later to go to the morgue and found him crouched in his seat, his head propped up by his left hand, his nose all red and his eyes without their brightness.  
“You ready for this?”, he asked, already knowing the DC’s answer. Morse stiffly rose from his chair, took his coat and followed him outside.

DeBryn was already waiting for them. The small man stood behind one of his steel tables, hosting a body covered by one of those white sheets.  
“Good evening, gentlemen”, he said, pulling back the sheet to reveal Mr. Caster’s pale face. “I had a little chat with Mr. Caster’s physician. He had nothing specific to say about his client, but as it seemed, Mr. Caster was not overly fond of visiting any doctors, so he said, last visited him about two years ago. It could be quite possible he had been sick for some time without him knowing about it.”  
“And did you find anything?”  
“Indeed I did. His blood vessels are showing signs of severe atherosclerosis and his left coronary artery got completely blocked. I think it is safe to say, he died from a heart attack.”  
“He’s a bit young for that, isn’t he?”, Morse asked, his voice breaking now and then. He cleared his throat and stifled a cough in the crook of his arm.  
The doctor rose his eyebrows a little, giving Thursday a questioning look. The DI shrugged his shoulders.  
“Well, of course, most men his age are not going to drop dead by a heart attack anytime soon, but it is suspected there are genetic predispositions with a disturbance in the blood fats, that lead to early conditions like his. So yes, he is a little young for it, but it’s not unheard of”, he answered Morse’s question.  
The DC again cleared his throat and nodded, tightening his coat around him, as a shiver ran through his body.  
DeBryn exchanged another look with Thursday.  
“You know, Morse, I may be mainly a pathologist, but that means, I still studied medicine for nearly half an decade, and I would recommend you to get home and rest before that flu you have festering will knock you out for good”, he said.  
The Constable mumbled something like “barely a cold”, and suddenly seemed eager to get away from there. 

They spent the trip back to the station mostly in silence.  
The case would be over now. A little bit of paperwork. A formal hearing from a judge.  
Thursday now and then threw a suspicious glance towards his bagman, but besides some little coughs he did not seem to be in a too bad state.  
“You know”, he began, “Win would be delighted, if you came and had Christmas dinner with us.”  
Morse slightly wrinkled his brows.  
“Please tell her, I thank her for the invitation. I don’t know, if I will be free to come. But I think I can tell you by tomorrow, if that’s alright with you”, he said after some consideration.  
Oh, so maybe finally the lad found himself someone special. He knew, Morse never met with his family to celebrate and he himself had made sure, he was not scheduled for work over Christmas this year. He did not dare to ask him about it. Not yet.  
“Well, just let me know then, if you are coming.” 

They parked the car and went inside.  
The rest of the day past uneventful and Thursday made sure, none of his staff stayed behind as he, for once, left his office on time.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sharp ringing of his alarm had him rudely awake the next morning. Blindly he fumbled for the device, turning it of.  
With a small sigh he let himself fall back in his cushions. He had been doing some last minute Christmas shopping, had a quick supper, put a record on and, feeling a little exhausted, went to bed. For once, he had slept more than a few hours, but still felt tired. His limbs felt stiff and heavy, his throat was dry and scratchy and behind his closed eyes he could feel a slight pounding.  
So maybe Max had been right and he really was coming down with something.  
Well another day to go and he would be free to rest for a few days over Christmas.  
Slowly he got up and went through his morning routine. He considered having some toast, but his hurting throat let him decide against it and he only had some tea with lots of sugar for breakfast.  
Despite leaving his flat early, he was a few minutes late, when he arrived at the station, shivering and cold.  
A little out of breath he went to sign out the car.  
“Spare yourself the trouble”, the officer behind the desk told him. “Jakes has been here for more than an hour and decided he would pick up the inspector. Maybe one of his love birds had kicked him out early.” The man chuckled over his own joke. Morse refrained from giving a comment and made his way towards his desk.  
The slight pounding in his head had grown into a real headache by now, and he was glad he had not to drive out and pick up his boss right now.  
He used the time to finish yesterday’s paperwork.  
His desk was close to the heating, but he could not get any warmer.  
Thursday and Jakes arrived about half an hour later.  
“Morse”, the DI greeted him with a nod of his head. Morse declined his own head in response.  
It was just than, that his phone rang.  
“DC..”, his voice broke and he had to clear it before trying it again. “DC Morse speaking.”  
“Good morning Constable. PC Simmons”, a voice could be heard. “we’ve got a suspicious death at Regent’s Park College. Could very well be suicide, if you ask me, but one of you better had a look at it.”  
“Is the Doctor already there?”  
“Not yet. We only called him a few minutes ago. Should be here soon, I guess.”  
“Alright. Standard procedure: Secure the scene, don’t touch anything and wait for us. We will be there as soon as possible.”  
They said there goodbyes and Morse turned towards his superior, who had stopped midway to his office, listening to Morse’s part of the conversation.  
“Murder?”, he asked.  
“More like suicide, the PCs think.”  
“Well, so nothing you and Jakes couldn’t handle I guess. Give me a call if you need any help.” With that he turned around and vanished into his office, closing the door behind himself.  
“You heard him.” Jakes tossed the car keys he was still holding in his hands in the air and caught them again. “Better let’s go, before the PCs destroy any possible evidence.”  
Morse rolled his eyes and followed him outside.

There were not many cars on the road and they made a good pace, still Morse had to struggle to stay awake as he shivered in his seat.  
“Seems you had a tough night”, Jakes said. “Hope you are not too hungover to pay attention, when we arrive.”  
“Not hungover.”  
“Yeah, of course. Have you seen yourself this morning? You look like death warmed over.”  
Morse shrugged. There was no point in arguing about this. Jakes would still insist he had a hangover, no matter what he said.

A young WPC was waiting for them at the gates when they arrived.  
“Collin Fletcher. 21 years”, she stated, as soon as they had introduced themselves to her. “Had not been in any of his lectures for a few days and his friends thought, he had made an early start in travelling home for Christmas. Found this morning by one of his classmates, who wanted to pick up a book he had lend to him.”  
She led them through some arcs and corridors and then up a few slights of stairs.  
Morse felt himself starting to wheeze as they climbed up the steps, breaking out in cold sweat when they reached the first landing.  
The WPC sent him a concerned look, when finally on shaky legs he reached his two colleagues, who were waiting for him upstairs.  
“Are you alright, Constable?”  
“Let him be. He had a bad night, with a little too much liquor.”  
She did not seem overly convinced by Jakes statement, but did not say anything more, when Morse pushed past them, entering the corridor in front of them, following the voices he could hear.  
Without knocking, he opened the half closed door and stepped inside.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The WPC had told him, no one had seen the student for a few days, but Morse had not concluded, he had also been dead since.  
The stench, which filled up the tiny room was overwhelming. And thick greenish flies were buzzing around.  
He stopped in his tracks, ready to turn around, when Jakes entered close behind him, pushing him further inside the room.  
“Anything special so far, Doctor?”, the Sargent asked.  
Morse’s eyes fell on the figure hanging from the ceiling. The young face blue and swollen, it’s features badly contorted.  
“Nothing at all. Must be dead for at least four days, I’d say”, DeBryn answered. “I will be able to tell you more about it, when I later have a closer look to the maggots and eggs.” 

Morse swallowed, a bad taste filling his mouth.  
He felt hot and cold at the same time.  
He had to leave, but he could not move an inch.

Jakes went nearer to the man, having a closer look at the scene.  
“Okay, I think we can take him down.”  
Between the Doctor and the two PCs in the room, they cut the rope and laid him on the floor.  
DeBryn immediately crouched down, lifting one of the eyelids.  
Morse tried to look away, but he was not fast enough.  
Something small, something white was moving there. 

His hand and feet started to feel nub.  
With an involuntary moan he let himself sink against the door frame, closing his eyes.  
“Morse!” DeBryn’s voice sounded like it was travelling through water.  
He could hear hurried steps, then a small hand crapped him by the arm.  
“Sit down”, a female voice came just from behind him. 

She helped him down to the floor where he rested his head in his shaking hands.  
DeBryn made his way over, getting rid of his rubber cloves in the process. Morse could smell the familiar scent of his aftershave over the stench of rotten flesh.  
The Doctor laid his index and middle finger on the inside of his wrist, taking his pulse, then moved the back of his hand to the base of Morse’s neck.  
“I told you yesterday to have a rest, didn’t I?”, his friend said.  
“I rested”, Morse said, his voice no more then a whisper.  
“Morse, I swear to you, when the next time you come to work hungover I will...”  
“Shut up, will you!”, DeBryn bellowed, making Morse flinch as his headache spiked and for once Jakes actually was quiet. “An idiot would see, he is not drunk but sick with the fever he is running.”  
“Sick?”  
“Yes, Sargent. Sick. Probably the flu, if you ask me. Instead of making any wild accuses, you would do better to help me bring him away and then call your boss and let him know, I will take him home after I’ve finished up here.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Some time later he was sitting in the Morris, his hurting head against the window. 

The last hour had past by him a little fuzzy.  
Jakes and DeBryn had sat him down in the corridor, leaving their female colleague to look after him, while they returned to the corpse. The doctor had left his heavy winter coat with him, trapping it over his shivering form. The young woman had fetched him some water and then carefully watched him as he slowly sipped at it.  
At some point Thursday had appeared besides them.  
“You alright there, Morse?”  
“I think I will not make it to your wife’s Christmas dinner tomorrow”, he croaked.  
“You know, it would have been a lot easier for you to just call in sick this morning.”  
“Had not been this bad, when I got up.”  
The DI gave him a small pat to the shoulder before joining Jakes and DeBryn.

Finally Jakes and Thursday had helped him down the stairs, safely delivering him to DeBryn’s car.  
“You will manage from here on, Doctor?”, Thursday asked.  
“I am sure we will.”  
The DI lend down to Morse. “Give me a call if you need anything. Understood?”  
He nodded.  
“And if you should feel up to it by tomorrow, the invitation still stands. Well, get well soon.”  
He rose his hand in goodbye as DeBryn started his car and drove away.

A wet cough had him shake in his seat.  
“You know, that does not sound good at all. And you look even worse.”  
“Thank you, Max. Just the words I needed.”  
“Is your girlfriend at home?”  
“No, she’s left to visit her family.”  
“Hmm.”

It took his feverish brain some time to realize their change in direction.  
“This is not the way to my flat.”  
“No, but it’s the way to my house. I think it would not be the best idea leaving you all alone in that flat. Only you and your liquor and your germs.”  
“You know, I am an adult and capable of taking care of myself?”  
“Really? I bet there’s not even anything eatable left in your fridge.”  
“There’s toast”, he mumbled.  
“I will not say much more about this. I take you to my place and if you don’t like it you are free to walk home any time. But I doubt, you would make it even half a mile before someone would have to pick you up from the side walk.”

Lacking the energy to keep their bickering going, Morse reluctantly came to terms with his fate.


End file.
